


Waiting for a Letter That Won't Come

by Acai



Series: Letters [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, John & Karkat, Keeping A Secret, M/M, Sad Ending, Sadstuck, johnkat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You each kept your own silence about the notes, as if they were your secret, as if you were each refusing to acknowledge them until one of you gave up and didn’t leave a note for the other. You both also knew that you would not be the last one to leave a note. So it continues. Through the first year, the second year, the third year the notes continue being sent. They become habit, they remain secret. Every night you would find a note slid through the base of your door, each morning he would find one under his."</p><p>Or</p><p>The one where Karkat and John leave letters for each other under the other’s door but they each pretend like they aren’t. {Sadstuck, JohnKat.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for a Letter That Won't Come

**Author's Note:**

> Just a sadstuck I wrote. I had a whole bunch of stories lined up to post and then my laptop got a virus and I lost *everything*! Anyways, I may write a second part to this, so if please comment if you'd like this to be part of a two-part series! Archive murdered my bolding and italics, so if you see a word or sentence that you feel doesn't make sense as plain text, I'll be happy to fix it ^-^ Enjoy!

You’re not even sure how it happened. You just weren’t in the mood to talk to that asshole—you weren’t trying to start something for god’s sake. All you did was leave a note with instructions on it folded up and slipped under his door, ensuring that you would each avoid all contact with each other at all costs. You didn’t think he would write a note back, yet there it was, folded up much more neatly than yours had been, and there was his name, _-John,_ signed ever so neatly at the bottom of the page. You’d unfurled it, read it, and discarded it. You humored him, you wrote another note. You mockingly copied his signature at the bottom, though you wrote your own name. It wasn’t much of a love letter or even much of a letter at all. It was full of rude sarcasm and insults, actually. In all honesty you felt pretty proud of it. You slipped the folded note under his door and proceeded to go about your day, feeling pretty damn certain you wouldn’t find a note under your door that day.

But there it was; the back of a page from a book had a messily scrawled letter of it portraying the asshole’s amusement at your last note to him. You let out an angry squawk, storming to the library. Rose and Kanaya didn’t question your angry entrance, or the fact that you picked up the first book you could find, tore a page from it randomly and placed the book back before leaving once again, but you’re fairly certain they had questions that they kept silent. You wrote another note, just seven words scribbled in angry red letters. _Stop replying to the damn notes, fuckass!!!!!_ You crumple it into a ball and then slide it into John’s coat pocket when he isn’t watching.

That night you reach for your laptop and find a note slid inside of it. _Then stop writing them back ;)_ “That doesn’t even make sense!” You scoff, throwing the note in the bin. You use the back of his note to write your own reply. You fold it into a small square and leave it under his door once more. The notes continued for the next three weeks, yet neither of you said a single word about them. In the morning you would make eye contact with him at breakfast and you would each just go back to whatever you were doing. You didn’t smirk at each other over the last note sent or fling paper airplanes with notes on them at each other; you didn’t slide it into each other’s food at meals or get into arguments about them. You each kept your own silence about the notes, as if they were your secret, as if you were each refusing to acknowledge them until one of you gave up and didn’t leave a note for the other.

You both also knew that you would not be the last one to leave a note.

So it continues. Through the first year, the second year, the third year the notes continue being sent. They become habit, they remain secret. Every night you would find a note slid through the base of your door, each morning he would find one under his. You didn’t say a word about them, but you did feel the air around you two change. Whether or not anyone else noticed you had no idea, but you sure as hell did. Before the insolent ass had replied to the instructions, you had felt a burning discomfort when you were stuck with each other for a task. It was practically blackrom, and everyone could sense that. Did they sense it now, that when you were stuck partnered with him that it was comfortable? Did they sense that you could hold up a measly conversation with the kid? Did they wonder where the constant arguing went? Probably not. You each kept the secret well, you thought. It wasn’t like you stopped arguing— _hell_ , no. You argued with each other plenty. You still managed to end up tangled on the ground after a fight and you still sent glares his way. There was a certain difference now, yet either way it came with keeping an unmentioned secret together. The notes become a part of life, just as normal as breakfast or going to bed. The angry arguing tones become more playful some days, and you find yourself looking at John in a different way. You find yourself fighting a blush when he grabs your arm to drag you off to help him with something because everyone else is busy, you find yourself never truly angry with him, and you think it’s the most horrible thing in the world. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. You actually are rather content with what’s happening. The feelings are less welcome, definitely not as welcome as the letters and mutual contentment around John, but they are there either way and they aren’t going away. John feels it too, that’s fairly obvious, because now the arguments are for show, to keep the secret hidden, you feel it that they’re an inside joke between you and even if they’re the same, insufferable arguments that make everyone else on the meteor want to rip their hair out, they’re as half-hearted, weak and fake as the physical scuffles you get into and you both know it. You feel it that something has changed, and John has too. The eye contact is held out longer, being forced into working together is met with mutual agreement, you find yourself content being alone in a room with him. You still hate the blush you fight down when he sends you a smile on the way out of the room. You hate that he lets out a laugh when you mutter a half-hearted, “asshole,” under your breath. You still don’t say anything. That was how it was supposed to be, though. It was the secret you kept even from each other, like you were pretending it didn’t exist.

That’s how it was supposed to be, so you both kept your silence and kept sending the dumb little notes under your doors. You know that’s why you’re leaning over him now, fists knotted in his shirt.

“If you die now,” you threaten half-heartedly. “I’m going to win.” He lets out a weak laugh, his blue eyes sparkling. “Not if I haunt you,” he whispers. You blink, furiously wiping away tears that threaten to fall. You retreat as Dave and Rose finally reach John. He keeps up the happy act, though you know it’s not an act. _He’s dying and he’s still acting like everything is fine. Bastard._ He shoots you a weak smile as his breathing slows even more.

“I’m gonna haunt you, and I’m gonna win. You can’t write letters to a ghost!” He turns to Dave, Rose and Jade, mumbling whatever dumb last words he’s got to them and when they all whisper something back and then back up you know he’s gone. You inch forwards again.

“I can write all the letters I want,” you whisper weakly. “You just can’t read them. I win fuckass.” You hiccup softly, ignoring the questioning looks from Rose and Terezi, who you’re damn positive heard all of that that you and John just said about winning and letters. You viciously wipe the tears away, standing up. You draw in a breath, pretending like you could care less. It was all so stupid, now that you think about it. Who the hell writes notes to each other like love-struck movie actors, anyways? It was always so stupid, three years of stupid. You don’t get why you feel tears pouring down your face again when you’re back in your room that night and when no one’s watching. When there’s no letter underneath your door. The next morning you rip down one of the posters in your room, scrawling one last note on it. You glue it shut. If John can even see that note, he’ll find a way to read it. Anyone else can suck it up and wonder why there’s a folded poster glued shut and slid under John’s door.

You win.

You’re not that makes you as happy as you once thought it would.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said at the top of the page, please comment if you want this to be part of a two-part series! Feedback is always open and I appreciate being alerted of errors in my writing. Flames are not appreciated, however! I'm always accepting prompts, and thank you for reading!


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